An Array of Rainy Days
by wordslinger
Summary: It seems like they always end up in the rain.


**Author's Note: **I always assumed Roy and Riza were already in a long standing, yet secret, relationship when they were transferred to Central. And I also assume at least Breda knows, but no one talks about it because it's the Colonel. And Hawkeye. And it's none of his business. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist in any of it's incarnations.

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><p>It was a quiet rain, the kind that misted the city just enough to slicken roads and dot windows. Riza Hawkeye hadn't even taken notice of the change in weather until the mail carrier came through, his overcoat and large bag damp. She sighed quietly, glancing at her wristwatch. Another five minutes then she'd go.<p>

A frustrating seven minutes and thirty-four seconds later, the odd of which had been spent arguing with herself over the exact definition of insanity, she stood from her desk. Enough. The umbrella hanging from the coat rack by the office door caught her eye. To bring it would be an admission. A resignation. Was she _sure? _Riza pursed her lips and brought the umbrella.

She was sure.

On the ground floor of Central Command Headquarters there were a total of five doors leading out of the building. Riza had each location memorized before the Colonel had been transferred. She also knew which were covered or exposed, which had glass panes versus solid, and only two sets of double doors were open to all ranks and grades. The south courtyard was partially covered and had numerous archways leading out into the open; the main gates stood high, facing the city street. Isolated and heavily lauded with vines, it was near the easternmost archway that she found him.

His hands shoved into his pockets, and his hair now sodden with mist, Colonel Mustang stood only a few feet beyond the shelter of the stone building. Riza didn't need to see his face to know it would be pulled in a tight scowl. It was always the mild rains that upset him the most. He stiffened when she clicked the umbrella open. On the way down from the third floor, she'd spitefully regretted bringing it at all. Sense won out when she remembered how chafing a wet uniform could be.

_Why did he do this to himself? _Why did she _let_ him? Why was she now, also, standing in the rain like a stubborn idiot? Riza supposed that, like the Colonel, there were things she wouldn't admit either. She stepped next to him and covered them both. A quick glance down confirmed that, though hidden from her, his fingers were twitching inside the pocket of his blue military issue trousers.

"Lieutenant."

Riza knew that was all she'd get from him_._ "Sir."

The mist did not let up until she felt the moisture finally soaking through the sleeve of her uniform. Even then, a sticky humidity hung in the air. Riza thought it suited her mood anyway. She did not wait for the Colonel that evening, and let him sort out his own ride home. She left the umbrella on the coat rack. Just in case he walked.

**.o.o.o.**

Roy Mustang was useless with free time. The business of healing, and the number of hours sitting it required, was _very_ frustrating. Lieutenant Hawkeye had finally backed off the ridiculous notion of him returning to the hospital. How could he be confined to a tiny room when his whole team was being snatched right from under him? Losing _her_ would be the biggest hit, even if she _was_ staying in Central. That was the punch line of the whole nasty joke wasn't it? Holding his Lieutenant hostage right in front of him. The Fuhrer knew damn well which of his chess pieces Colonel Mustang valued most, and he didn't hesitate to seize her right off the board.

When the sun went down, he drank. That's when it was appropriate for someone of his rank to be seen slouched in a booth, head hanging stupidly over an empty glass or three. Certainly not during the day. How scandalous. Though if he were more honest with himself, Roy would admit it wasn't just the gossip that kept him from day-drinking. It was the mental image of his Lieutenant's glare that enforced sobriety more than anything else. These days lying to himself was second nature. He was a pro.

When he stood from the shadowed booth and trudged out of the bar, Roy found himself in a downpour. Of course it was raining; why wouldn't it be raining? How perfect. He dug around messily in his pockets for his keys before remembering he'd come with Breda… who'd left hours ago. _Right._

The frustrated concern in her face would be too much. She wasn't _really_ his lieutenant anymore, but she _was_. Her new position as Bradl- _Wrath's_ personal assistant was taxing enough. He couldn't live with himself if he was a source of more stress. He decided to walk. Roy had been doing a lot of walking lately.

The pavement swayed beneath his feet; he was more drunk than he thought, and his trek home ended up being a stumble to the closest bench. The way his body collapsed into the seat made his side ache, the not-so-old wound twisting as he leaned back. A set of headlights blinded him, and though the rain and darkness hid the car, he knew who was driving. Breda hadn't left him without a life raft, after all.

"Why don't you _ever_ bring an umbrella, sir?" _his _Lieutenant asked as she closed his fingers around the handle of one she'd brought, slipped her shoulders under his arm, and hoisted him off the bench. Roy did not think of how warm her body felt against him. His head lolled to the side, and he inhaled. Her scent was a uniquely_ Riza Hawkeye,_ mingling of lilac and gunpowder, and he definitely didn't want to hide his face in it.

She made him take off his overcoat before getting in the car. It was soaked, she'd said, and would ruin the upholstery. His Lieutenant was so practical. Roy wriggled his hand, the faint traces of the transmutation circle he'd carved there lingered still.

"I could dry it for you. I _am_ the Flame Alchemist."

If he were even a little bit honest, he'd admit the exasperated way she pursed her lips at him used to be his favorite expression. Back when he'd taken having her by his side for granted, and had his pick of her facial expressions. But he wasn't.

"It's raining, Sir," was all she said as she drove him home. They both knew he was just as useless on rainy days as he was with free time. And _that_ was being honest.

**.o.o.o.**

Riza _hated_ feeling trapped. And every morning when she walked into Fuhrer King Bradley's office to report for duty, that's exactly how she felt. Desperation had forced her hand, and she'd gone along with the Colonel's outrageous idea. The decision to call these things 'meetings' was hers. Other suggestions were… unsuitable. Consenting was a choice to privately dissent her hostage-like work environment, whereas publically she had no agency at all. Not really.

The black dress was entirely inappropriate. Far too short and lacy for someone of her military position to be seen wearing, but tonight Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye wasn't planning on being seen _anywhere_. Tonight Elizabeth had a date, and she looked fantastic in the dress _Riza_ could never get away with. Eyes darkened, lips reddened, a quick pat on the head of a napping dog, and she shut the front door behind her.

Perched on a certain stool at a certain bar owned by a certain Madam, Elizabeth smirked and sipped her drink. His hand was warm on her bare thigh, and he stood so close his presence was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey. Tipsily whispered words likely meant for her ear fanned across her neck. She couldn't help the shiver when his lips brushed her skin. This was the only place the very recognizable Colonel Mustang could safely be seen with Elizabeth, and even that was tenuous.

On the edge of one too many drinks, she stopped herself. Elizabeth liked to think she could hold her liquor, but Riza knew better. She turned her head and caught one of his kisses on the corner of her painted lips.

"Let's go," she whispered.

The Colonel's grin, though loosened by the drinks, said everything. He was absolutely fine with leaving. His arm curled around her waist, claiming her in the only way he could. Elizabeth flushed.

The night was thick and balmy. Heavy rain clouds hung low and grey against the black night sky, blocking out swaths of stars. Summer would soon be over, and the pleasures of the evening breeze against her naked skin, gone. There was a pleasant familiarity in the way his hands slid up her arms, and over her shoulders to cup her face as he pressed her back against the outer brick wall of the bar. They wouldn't be seen in the obscurity of the night, and Elizabeth could not have been more euphoric. His mouth tasted of whiskey and mint.

Her heart raced, and she took in a sharp gasp through swollen lips when he reached deftly beneath her dress. As a warm rain began to fall and Riza wrapped her arms around his neck, she couldn't bring herself to care that neither of them had remembered to bring an umbrella.

**.o.o.o.**

Selfish as it was, he'd wanted Riza to be the first thing he saw when his vision was restored. Instead, he got the twisted face of Doctor Marcoh. At least an hour of anxious blinking, and temple rubbing passed before Roy could clearly make out the furniture in his room. He needed to find his Lieutenant. Outside the window a late autumn rain was beginning to fall.

When he approached the nurses station his expression must have been pathetic to earn such a cloying, sympathetic response. That was good because he didn't have it in him to play his usual flirtation card to gain information.

Roy's stomach twisted when he found her room empty, and cold. He approached her bed, ran his hand over the mess of sheets, and sat on the edge. It wasn't until his eye caught on the window pane, the one slightly ajar, that he realized where his Lieutenant had gone. He needed an umbrella.

The fire escape was cold and the raindrops frigid. She stood at the very edge, one hand covering the bandage on her neck, the other gripping the rail. The cotton hospital clothes clung wetly to her body, and blonde hair hung limp down her back. Roy's heart broke. Everything had been his fault. She'd nearly died. After the countless times she'd saved his life without any fanfare at all, he'd failed her in a crucial moment. In the end, a little girl had been the hero. A child.

The chilled metal grate of the fire escape seeped right through his hospital slippers. She didn't turn to him until he clicked open the umbrella. Had she grown more beautiful during his blindness? Maybe he'd just never truly seen her before. And now he didn't want to look away.

Riza stared in shocked silence, and when she finally gave him the soft grin he knew was only his, he opened his arms. She melted into him and he enfolded them both in a blanket.

There were times when it seemed like all his Lieutenant did was glare at him. Now she looked _into_ him. His heart beat steadily under her hands as she leaned up to press her mouth to his. These were not the ardent kisses of lovemaking or the sweet stolen kisses in the back of a cab with Elizabeth. Riza kissed him, and he knew she loved him.

"I can't believe you brought me an umbrella," was all she said. It was enough.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Riza may come off as quite a bit more forward here, but I like to think being Elizabeth gives her some breathing room. At this point in her arc she's Bradley's hostage and feeling pretty damn desperate.

Thanks to my beta, BellaFlan. We're canon.


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